One moment she is wild and angry
the next she is meek and mild,
of all the seasons
she is the most temperamental child.
She can be warm and mellow
like a meadow thread with flowers,
but then in moments
drown all in awesome showers.
She will paint a splendid picture,
you will love her burnished gold.
Her beauty will defy
that she is growing very old.
You cannot help but love her
she clings to life at every chance,
yet there is sadness
in her last enchanting dance.
The skirts of leaves have fallen,
she lingers cool now in her kiss.
The song is almost silent,
just a whisper of autumnal bliss.
© Stella Armour 2017